


Something Vintage, Something Blue

by callabriel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aunt Peggy Carter, Birthday & BBQ, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Sharon Carter Friendship, Bucky Barnes is also a dork, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, College Student Peter Parker, Fluff, Funeral, Happy Ending, Librarian Sam Wilson, Librarians, Library Assistant!Bucky, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Peggy Carter was a knitter, Peggy dies off screen, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Shrunkyclunks, Steve Rogers is a dork, They are collectively adorkable, Thrift Shop, Vintage clothing, sweater love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22858048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callabriel/pseuds/callabriel
Summary: When Sam Wilson lets Bucky know that his holey, well loved cable knit sweater is NOT acceptable work attire, what's a library paraprofessional to do?Wander into Peggy's Place to find a treasure trove of vintage sweaters and maybe the love of your life, that's what.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Sharon Carter/Sam Wilson
Comments: 43
Kudos: 200





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Peggy is "offscreen" for this entire fic but she is discussed a lot. There is a whole section devoted to Sharon and Bucky at the funeral. Otherwise I don't think there's anything to warn about.

**2008**

It all started with a conversation at the circulation desk on a slow Saturday. Sam was making a sign for their Star Wars Reads event. Bucky was low-key writing fan fic between patrons and chapters of a biography of Captain America that he was reading on Overdrive. A patron had needed help lifting some thick books into their book bag, Bucky helped because he was nice like that, inadvertently flashing several small holes and abrasions on his sweater at his coworker. Sam had jokes.

“Bucky” Sam drawled, “When are you going to get a new sweater dude? Because there are more holes in that sweater than in the acoustic ceiling tiles.”

Bucky was not amused.

“There is nothing wrong with my sweater” he huffed indignantly. “It’s just well loved.”

“If that’s what happened to things that you love well, god help us all” Sam continued.

“Give me a break, Wilson. I don’t make commentary about that tacky bird shirt you wear all the time” Bucky sniped back. 

“That’s because it’s a great shirt and I look suave and sophisticated in it” Sam returned easily. “You, on the other hand, look like you’re two steps from homelessness….”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“If I buy a new sweater it'll be because I want one, not so you’ll shut up about it already” he said, through an involuntary chatter of his teeth. 

"I'm sorry, what did you say? I didn't catch that over your premature death rattle" Sam laughed back. 

"It's freaking cold in here!" Bucky whined. 

Sam just chuckled and kept on fiddling with LibraryAware. 

The thing was that Bucky was always broke. He didn’t consider himself poor but he was continually, perpetually  _ just  _ making it. To be fair, his job provided a fairly decent wage (and  _ great  _ benefits) but once he paid rent, car note, car insurance, gas, utilities, cell phone, student loan, groceries and toiletries, he was lucky if he had a hundred dollars to spend on anything nice or fun. Most of the time he didn’t bother, just stashed it away in case he really needed or wanted something. He didn’t let it bother him just trucked along, stashing his “change” away. Just keep on trucking was the motto and being as frugal as possible (he knew  _ fifty  _ ways to make beans, for fuck’s sake) was the only way he knew how to make it.

It was September and fall had come on with a vengeance; rain and even sleet had made regular appearances over the last couple of weeks. He was tired of shivering. He was tired of Sam making commentary about his teeth chattering and about the holes in his sweaters while they were manning the circ desk. 

It was time to go shopping. 

Since he was young, broke, and single, his clothing was looking a little worse for wear and he wanted (no,  _ needed)  _ a new sweater. His body would thank him. Sam would thank him. Library patrons everywhere would thank him.

On his next day off, Bucky made the rounds of local thrift stores (which he haunted whenever life threw it’s incessant need for material things in his face), not finding anything he really loved and wanted to part with precious dollars over. After grabbing a coffee with cream from the bodega on the corner, he decided to walk around the neighbourhood some more and see where his feet took him. 

After ten minutes and quite a few meandering blocks, he saw a small shop with a red door that looked as if at one point it had been a wonderfully shiny lacquer but was now a little scuffed and faded. It was an absolutely fantastic red: it was not too blue or too orange but it was also deeper than most people usually liked for a door they were going to paint red. Bucky  _ loved  _ it. A smile settled on his face. He didn’t even know if there were going to be sweaters in the shop, he knew that he would leave with something from the little hole in the wall place, even if it was just a tchotchke. He checked the awning before heading inside: Peggy’s Place.

Huh.

That sounded a little hokey but in for a penny, in for a pound. Bucky settled his hand on the well worn brass handle, pushing the tab down with his thumb. The door opened with a click and then a bell jangled above his head as he stepped inside. The little shop was tidy but worn, nothing was shiny or new, everything looked lived in and well taken care of. The floors were wood, as were the shelves holding items along the walls. The tables in the middle of the store were covered with bright, beautiful tablecloths with blowsy florals or jaunty geometric prints on them. There was also, to Bucky’s delight a rack of clothing along the back wall and it looked like there might be a few sweaters there. There was a tall, serious looking blonde seated at the counter reading a book on counter-terrorism but she looked up as he made his way towards the back for the clothing rack. She gave him a genuinely warm smile and a quick wave. Bucky waved back, unexpectedly charmed. 

Bucky was struck dumb by the absolute smorgasbord of lovely vintage clothing for both men and women that lined the back wall. There were items dated back to the 20’s but there even seemed to be a few newer items that were well made or just really beautifully designed. He even found a sweater he liked nestled neatly on a shelf with a small tag attached that read “handmade, superwash single ply wool” and on the second line “teal, orange, pink, burgundy” with a price of fifty-five dollars written in a pretty script at the end. The price was more than he had planned to pay but he also recognized it was a steal for a vintage, hand-knit sweater. 

He ran his hand over the fabric: it was buttery soft and squishy, and the teal yarn that made up the body of the sweater was lively with slight variations in tone throughout. He picked it up, unfolding it gently to see the pattern more clearly: the yoke of the sweater was knit with a geometric intarsia pattern interweaving the other colors called out on the tag with the teal yarn and culminated in a neatly finished turtleneck made of ribbing. Bucky was practically dancing in place as he held up the sweater. It looked like it might fit but he wanted to be sure. 

There was a curtained area in the center of the wall, a raised platform with a three-sided mirror that reminded him of an old fashioned tailor’s shop. He stepped up and in, closing the curtain behind him with a swish of rolling metal and heavy canvas fabric. He quickly stripped off the leather jacket and hoodie he was wearing over a long-sleeved t-shirt. He slipped the sweater on and it fit perfectly. It wasn’t too loose or too baggy and both the turtleneck and hem settled just right on his muscular frame. It was beautiful, the colors were amazing, pulling out the blue of his eyes and coordinating nicely with the dark indigo skinny jeans he was wearing. The colors on the yoke were going to make Sam stroke out on sight  _ and  _ Bucky loved it. This gem was definitely going home with him. 

Reluctant to pull off the sweater but not wanting to appear to be stealing, he pulled the lovely creation off his body, folding it gently back into a shape that didn't in any way resemble what it had been. Pulling the curtain aside with a smile, he headed up to the register. 

The blonde woman settled her book on the counter and gave him another friendly smile. 

"You look like a man who has found a treasure,'' she said instead of a greeting. 

Bucky nodded, grinning wider. 

"This sweater is amazing! It's so soft and beautiful… As soon as I touched it, I knew it had to be mine" he replied, "I'm just glad it actually fit." 

She grinned back. 

"My aunt made it. There was this man, from back in the forties during the war. He died saving a lot of people", the woman trailed off for a moment. She shook herself and chuckled ruefully. "He was so dashing and handsome in the pictures she showed me. A real life hero. I wish I could have met him. She made the sweater for him. Couldn't stop knitting things for him even when she knew he wasn't coming back."

Bucky thought the story made the sweater even better and he told her so. 

"Well, there are quite a few all over the store. Maybe you'll come in and buy a few more?" she winked at him, ringing up the sweater (for ten dollars less than the tag read, he  _ did _ notice). Once the cherished item was carefully in his grasp, she handed him a business card. 

"Come back any time. Aunt Peggy would love to know those sweaters are going to a good home", she offered as she passed it to him. Bucky took it with a smile and a wave as he left the shop to make his way home. 

* * *

**2009**

Spring had come early in New York and he wanted to go outside like every other healthy, happy Brooklynite and enjoy the sun, just in case Mother Nature changed her mind. He threw on a pair of black jeans and a lovely dove gray sweater he’d picked up at Peggy’s place that had a small, intricate cable pattern stitched into it and a gently v’ed neck that barely showed the edge of his crewneck tee. 

His leather jacket was enough to keep out any potential chill winds and he tossed on a baseball cap to keep the slightly longer hair on top of his head from blowing into his face.He had a coffee in hand and a book tucked under his arm that a patron had recommended to him (something about a girl being sucked backward in time towards a creepy homicidal monster) ready for whatever spot he could find that was conducive to lounging in the sun and reading. 

There were people out walking their dogs, rolling by on skates, walking hand in hand with their toddlers. All of Brooklyn looked like a dress rehearsal for summer vacation and Bucky thought it was glorious. He ended up finding a park bench that wasn’t completely filled with strangers and settled on it to read. He ended up making it through over half of the book (the patron’s description did not do the book justice, it was a serious page turner) before his stomach rumbled that the coffee he’d settled in with was no longer enough to keep it satisfied. 

Taking the cue in stride, he stood, stretching his arms above his head, inadvertently flashing his abs. A girl walking by smiled at him shyly, and he smiled back before pulling his tee and sweater back down around his hips, tossing the empty coffee and settling the book back under his arm. He strolled down the street absorbed in the warmth of the day and the good mood of everyone around him. All he needed was a good meal to wrap up the day. He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone to call Sam. 

“Hey, man, you wanna grab a bite?” he said when Sam picked up.

“Yeah, let's meet up at that Thai place. Sound good?” Sam said.

“Sure. Tell Riley she better be there too. She owes me from last time” Bucky threatened. 

“Yeah, yeah. She’ll be there man” Sam said through his laughter “Just do me a favor and watch where you’re going? You know you trip over dust motes if given half the chance.”

“Not true. On dust motes…” Bucky huffed indignantly. “Just for that you’re paying!”

With that he hung up before Sam could reply, laughing all the while. Juggling his phone back into his pocket turned out to be more than his joy addled brain could cope with and he stepped off the curb without looking. 

His eyes fluttered open and indeterminate time later and he found himself in a hospital bed. 

“On your left”, Sam said quietly. When Bucky looked in that direction Sam was sitting with a concerned smile on his face. “You gave us a scare. I  _ told  _ you to watch where you were going.”

Bucky tried to speak but couldn’t quite get the words out. He felt odd; there was an unnameable thing lurking at the edges of his consciousness sending out warning signals to his brain. He couldn’t get a hold of it, so let it go, knowing Sam would fill him in once he got his bearings. 

Sam leaned over and grabbed a cup from the rolling hospital table and filled it with water. 

“Here, drink this” he directed.

Bucky obliged, grateful for the cooling effect it had on his dry throat. He drank for a while, taking great slurping draughts through the straw until the tell-tale gurgle signaling an empty cup broke the silence in the room.

“What happened?” he croaked, when he finally spoke.

“You walked into a truck and lost your arm, ya’ weirdo” Sam said gently. 

“My arm…?” Bucky looked down at his body, noticed for the first time that his left arm wasn’t there. “Oh my god...” He trailed off, a horrified expression stealing over his face.

“It’s not okay” Sam said, “but you will be. Bucky?”

Sam started to reach for his shaking body but was gently but firmly moved out of the way by incoming nurses and the doctor. 

“Mr. Wilson, I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to step out, please.”

They poked and prodded and took his vitals. The doctor explained with a lot more words and a lot less care than Sam had about his arm. Bucky was horrified by it all. He had no idea how he was going to pay the hospital bill, let alone take care of himself with a missing arm. He wanted to curl up and die. 

But then his sister showed up a few days later and told him in no uncertain terms was he to get all mopey and weird (Sam seconded this. Traitor.). She also told him that she would stay with him until he got through physical therapy and could manage on his own. That she and her husband, Doug, would help with the hospital bills, if his insurance wasn't going to be enough. He didn’t even bother arguing, just let them both wrangle him into shape. 

Months later he would marvel at how far he'd come in such a short time. His physical therapist, a crazy, coffee addicted punk named Clint Barton even had good things to say about “Team Barnes” and their relentless pursuit of Bucky's recovery. 

By the end of the year he was able to pin up the arm of his shirts and sweaters and to pull his now shoulder length hair into a low ponytail or bun on his own. He could take care of his daily needs like showering and getting things down from cabinets, opening pickle jars, and the like, all without needing excessive help from friends or family. 

It had been a tough haul but he considered himself lucky in the end. He could have ended up as a random traffic casualty but he had pulled through. His sister, his brother in law, Sam and his best friend Riley, his co-workers and boss had all helped in different ways; he know beyond a shadow of a doubt he wouldn't have made it without any of them. The only thing beside his left arm that hadn't survived his accident was Peggy’s beautiful dove gray sweater. He’d kept it though. It had been washed to the best of his ability and neatly folded away. He couldn’t part with it. That sweater and the hands that made it were part of him too. 

Months went by before he made it down to Peggy’s to see what new treasure he could find. Sharon was there, seated behind the counter reading from a manila folder that had what looked like a dossier on the inside of it. When she looked up and saw him coming towards her, she shuffled the paperwork together, closed the cover and slipped the whole kit under the counter. She smiled warmly at him.

“Long time, no see.” Sharon said in greeting. Bucky nodded. She assessed him for a moment, then cocked her head to one side. “Something’s different though.”

Instinctively, Bucky tried to curl his left side away from her gaze, even though she could be talking about his hair, which he hadn’t bothered to cut since the accident. Still, Sharon wasn’t stupid, he saw the exact moment that she realized what was so different about him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her tone was neutral, letting him decide which way this would go; he appreciated that more than any words he could say. He shook his head but held out the paper he’d found outside their door. 

“I think this is yours” he said, handing it over. Sharon took it from him with a smile of thanks.

“I was about to take a break” she said, gesturing towards the front window. “You wanna hang out with me and read this thing?”

He nodded, grateful for the change of subject. They sat down on a pretty little two-seater sofa and split the paper. At some point Sharon got up and grabbed them both a water bottle from somewhere in the back. They spent a good couple of hours in companionable silence, swapping sections, and sipping their water. After a while Bucky needed to get up and move so he gave Sharon the last section.

“I’m just going to dig around and see if I can find anything I need to take home. In the end he found another sweater. This one was cream colored, thick, with a crew neck and was covered in several different types of cables, including down the sleeves. It was not seasonally appropriate but he was taking it home with him: the sweater was freaking gorgeous and he knew he would look good in it, pinned up arm and all.

"Is the loveseat for sale?" Bucky asked when he took the sweater to Sharon. 

"Ewing? Oh no! Definitely not for sale" she returned, shaking her head for emphasis. 

"Ewing?" Bucky queried. 

She jaut shrugged and grinned. 

Sharon rang up the sweater and sent him home with it wrapped carefully in cedar scented tissue paper. When he got home he discovered a small stack of swing band records from the forties tucked under the sweater in his bag. There was a note on the top album.

_ Y _ _ ou look like the kind of  _

_ guy that knows how  _

_ to cut a rug. Enjoy! _

_ ~Sharon _

* * *

**2010**

Midtown Manhattan was a bitch to navigate at the best of times but midday during the lunch hour was a nightmare. Bucky was sure he was going to be late for his appointment and he swore under his breath as he bogarted his way through an unending stream of people that seemed to be coming out of the woodwork. 

He didn’t even want to go to this fucking appointment but Becca, ever the champion of “let me make this my business” had decided he was going, come hell or high water. So he caved. He’d rather  _ not _ fight with her for years to come (for ever and ever, amen!), thank you very much.

Instead he was sweating in a button down shirt, which was clinging to his back in the August heat, and his admittedly over long hair stuck to the edges of his face and forehead. Thankfully the beautiful navy blue cotton cardigan that he'd picked up from Peggy's Place was safely tucked into his messenger bag, and would later be used as a shield to hide the aforementioned sweat soaked shirt from judging eyes. In the meantime, he was questioning how his sister had once again strongarmed him into this hellish situation by "suggesting" he go to the appointment in the first place. 

He had a very large, very strong iced coffee in his hand and a vigilant eye on traffic and pedestrians alike. That’s how he noticed the absolute moron talking to himself (no really: no headset nor harried assistant three steps behind and to the left of him) gesticulating wildly at nothing ( _ crazy town _ ) about to step out into oncoming traffic.

Been there, done that. Lost a frigging arm. No. And thank you. 

He didn’t really think it through though. Kind of tough to knock said moron out of the way when you’ve only got one arm and it’s holding coffee.

That coffee ends up on gesticulating moron and he’s not happy about it.

“That was five k of bespoke suit you just cold brewed.” the man said as he tried to wipe thirty ounces of only slightly watered down iced coffee (Bucky liked _a lot_ of ice) off his AC/DC tee shirt.

“I could have let you die, Crazy Town. So, you know, you’re welcome” Bucky huffed back.

A stocky man in a MiB suit jogged up, panting for breath.

“Boss, you almost got run over by a delivery truck.” He nodded briefly at Bucky before continuing breathlessly, “You’re lucky this guy was here to push you out of the way."

Bucky noted a sarcastic edge to this statement, though it didn’t appear to be aimed at him. Good thing too. He’d lost a precious commodity in this stupid little incident. 

Crazy Rich Guy looked around as if seeing the street for the first time.

“JARVIS, seriously? A little warning.” The admonishment seemed to be toward whatever imaginary person the guy had been talking to in the first place. 

“Ok, well, you can do crazy on your own” Bucky said backing away.    
  
“Crazy? Crazy is projectile vomiting your Starbucks on strangers” he griped. 

Bucky watched in utter fascination as a sleek electric car pulled up to the curb with no driver in it and the stocky man moved around to the trunk, returning with a garment bag which he handed over to the waiting asshole, whose life he’d just saved.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one walking around talking to nobody and not paying attention to where he’s going. I just saved your ass from walking into traffic. Clearly that was a mistake” Bucky snapped back. 

He leaned over and picked up the now completely empty cup and whimpered involuntarily. For a moment he was so focused on the loss of his coffee that he didn’t notice what was going on around him. MiB was tapping steadily on his right shoulder trying to get his attention.

“Huh?” he said, in confusion. 

“Boss wants your number.” Bucky started to refuse but the man waved it off. “He’s  _ obscenely  _ rich and twice as impulsive. He wants to “do something nice” for the guy that saved his life. Just give him your number already or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Bucky hesitated again, for maybe two seconds but decided he didn't feel like arguing. He gave the stocky guy his number with a shrug. His expectations of receiving something from the rich, crazy, moron were so low as to be nonexistent… so whatevs, right? Take the path of least resistance and no one will be surprised when  _ absolutely nothing  _ happens as a result. 

"Thanks, man," the stocky guy said with a relieved smile. He walked around the apparently self driving car, stopping to address Bucky once more before he got in the driver's seat. "He'll be in touch." 

"Sure, whatever" Bucky replied in disbelief. "You think he could buy me a new coffee? Like, right now?" 

But the man was already closing the door. The car pulled away from the curb with the recipient of his foolhardy heroism firmly ensconced in the back seat, a silent and sleek barracuda in a city full of guppies. Bucky shook his head. Rich people! 

Bucky remembered his appointment, looked at his watch and swore, taking off at as fast a run as he could manage with all of Manhattan out on the streets. 

He made it to his appointment with five minutes to spare but he definitely had to use Peggy's sweater to hide the sweaty shirt. Good thing too, by the time he was done talking to the therapist, the air conditioning had made him a walking human popsicle. 

He made it home in one piece but decided he'd try a therapist closer to home. And when he checked his phone there were some notifications. The first was from his Starbucks app: free coffee for life. The second was a text from an unknown Manhattan number. 

**Unknown; 212-555-4766: You've been coffee'd. Permanently.**

Huh. 

Guess the guy wasn't a complete asshole after all. 

**Bucky Barnes: Yeah, I saw. Thanks?**

**Unknown; 212-555-4766: Come by the Tower. I’ve got something that’ll help you not coffee bomb people.**

**Bucky Barnes: Tower?**

**Unknown; 212-555-4766: Stark Tower. Tell ‘em you’re here to see me.**

**Bucky Barnes: … and you are?**

**Unknown; 212-555-4766: It’s my building.**

_ Oh,  _ he thought, rather unhelpfully.  _ OH.  _

* * *

**2011**

Bucky had eight sweaters from Peggy's Place, all made by its namesake and owner. He loved each and every one of them but his favorite was still the first one he'd bought on that cold September day almost three years ago. 

It had been a while since Bucky had made an appearance at the shop. Between the prototype testing and the surgery, he hadn’t had much time to get over to the shop as he liked but had kept in touch with Sharon via text. He liked to check in on the Carter ladies, it was just Sharon and her Aunt Peggy left. Even though he'd never met the fantastic lady that had knit all his sweaters, he'd heard such wonderful stories about her and her bravery during and after the war, how she'd lived a happy life even though she'd pined for the soldier who'd died in the war almost her whole life. Now she was older (and still sassy as hell, according to Sharon) but suffered from Alzheimers. He had a long weekend, with nothing planned like he usually did, so he was determined to go see how his favorite ladies of the Carter family were faring.

He grabbed a coffee from a local coffee shop around the corner (a mocha that was larger than his head and twice as caffeinated) before heading to his destination. Upon reaching the door, Bucky noticed the newspaper leaning at an awkward angle against the door frame, so he picked it up and tucked it under his arm to carry in to Sharon. 

The door bell jangled happily as he entered and as always he was filled with joy just to be in the place. Things had changed since his last visit: there was new merchandise to replace the old and some of the tables and displays had been moved around but the quiet, tidy loveliness of the place was still the same.

"Hey, Sharon!" he called out. "I've got your paper!" 

He continued to the counter, placing the newspaper on its polished wood surface.. 

"You forgot this when you came in this morning?" he asked as she emerged from the back workroom. 

"Hey, Bucky!" she replied. "Yeah, Peter and I had to get cracking on a bunch of deliveries for the Etsy shop. Meant to grab it but once we got going. Well… Honestly I'm surprised it was still there. Thanks for bringing it in for me."

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly, feeling it was the least he could do in repayment for all the wonderful time he had spent in the shop with her, Peter, and stories of the wonderful Peggy Carter. 

“How’s Peggy?” he said, gently. “And how are you holding up?”

Sharon nodded, swallowing thickly.

“I’m doing alright, most of the time anyway. Sometimes it's so hard… Other times? She remembers and it feels like the sun breaking through on a cloudy day.” She grabbed the paper as a distraction from that fraught train of thought. 

“If you need me for anything... “ Bucky trailed off, unsure of what he was even offering. “Maybe I could cover some shifts here for you?”

She laughed and shook her head. 

“Peggy would kill me if she knew! I appreciate the offer though.” Sharon reached across the counter and squeezed Bucky’s hand. She looked down confused for a moment, then laughed again. "Sometimes I forget…"

She squeezed again. He squeezed very gently back. He was still getting used to having an arm that could crush metal if he didn't carefully modulate his movements. 

Peter, the gangly college student who worked there part time came out of the backroom with a cart loaded with boxes of various sizes. 

"Hey, Mr. Barnes!" he called out with a nervous wave. Bucky saluted him in return, amused by his twitchy demeanor. 

"I'm all done Ms. Carter, I'm just going to take the shipment over to FedEx now." he paused, uncertain. "You know… If… that's OK?" 

Bucky could tell Sharon was trying not to laugh but she schooled her expression and replied. "It's OK, Peter. Grab some lunch before you head back."

The young man ducked his head in acknowledgement and hustled out of the store as fast as his skinny legs would carry him. 

Sharon burst out laughing after he cleared the door, Bucky joined her. 

"He's so great around here but he's a nervous  _ wreck.  _ Sometimes I wonder if he's hiding something huge."

"Won the lotto and doesn't really need to work here?" Bucky guessed. 

"Good one. But my guess is that he's secretly a masked vigilante that goes around doing good deeds like getting kittens out of trees and walking old ladies across the street with their groceries."

"Come on. Kick back for a second. Is Ewing still under the window?" Bucky asked. She nodded. "Okay, grab the paper. We'll just chat and swap sections for awhile until Peter gets back. OK?" 

"Deal. Let me just grab a bottled water from the back, since you didn't bring me a coffee, cretin."

Bucky grabbed his chest as if she'd wounded him but grabbed the paper and headed for Ewing. 

Ewing was a 1950s loveseat covered in a medium blue silk with little diamonds embroidered onto it. He'd tried to buy it on his second or third visit to the store but had been told in no uncertain terms that "Ewing wasn't for sale". He never did get the story on why the little two seater sofa was named but he liked to sit on it when he hung out. Sometimes he read the paper with Sharon and sometimes he flipped through some of the books they had for sale and other times he sipped his coffee and watched customers or passersby on the sidewalk. 

Sharon came back with a water and a tray of spiced Molasses cookies. Bucky hummed with happiness as she settled beside him on the sofa. 

"Okay, I'm calling dibs on section A today. You got it last time  _ and  _ you didn't bring me a coffee!" She took the paper out of its plastic wrap and unfolded it. 

"I'm never going to live it down, am I?" Bucky lamented with a chuckle. "Okay, hand it over… Sharon, what's wrong?"

He reached out to her but she stood abruptly, shaking his hand from her arm. The paper fell to the floor. 

"I've got to go Bucky. I've got to go see Aunt Peggy."

"OK, Sharon. Whatever you need. Just…" Bucky trialed off nonplussed by her sudden change in demeanor "Do you need me to lock up for you?" 

She finally looked at him and her face was stricken like something really terrible had happened. He didn't know what look she saw on his own face but her expression softened. She reached out to squeeze his shoulder. 

"No Bucky, it's OK. I just need to close up quickly and get to Aunt Peggy. I promise, it's okay. If I give you Peter's number will you call him for me and tell him not to come back in?" 

He nodded. She picked up the paper and moved away to put the till in the safe and get everything locked down. He stepped outside, waiting for her under the awning. A few minutes later she came out, after flipping the open sign off. Once the security gate was down and locked she turned to him handing over a business card. 

"His number is on the back." Sharon reached out and gave him a quick sideways hug before taking off down the sidewalk. Bucky looked after her in a daze, completely dumbfounded by what had just happened. 

He walked back to the corner shop and bought the paper. Above the fold in bold letters: 

**CAPTAIN AMERICA LIVES!**

When he unfolded the paper for the accompanying photo, there were two photos of Steven Grant Rogers: one a file photo from the forties of him wearing his Army uniform and looking every inch the handsome hero, the other a sort of grainy shot of a wide eyed, alarmed man with the same face standing awed in the midst of Times Square with black SUVs and special ops guys in the background... 

And it all fell into place. The handsome soldier that Aunt Peggy had pined over, the one everyone thought died in the war… He'd been wearing sweaters made for Captain America… for Steve Rogers, for the last four years. He could also see why Peggy had fallen for him. Between the stories he’d heard about the tiny man who became a giant, saving the world by sacrificing his life, the biographies he'd read, and now this picture, Bucky had a hard time believing anyone wouldn’t fall for him. He knew that if he had even half a chance to get to know the man beneath the iconic mask that he'd probably fall like a domino. 

He sank to his haunches on the sidewalk, the plates of his arm whirring as they shimmered through a series of recalibrations in time with the peaks and ebbs of his distress. Seriously, why had Sharon sold him these sweaters? Who was James Buchanan Barnes to have sweaters knit for Steve "Captain America" Rogers? 

He looked down at himself and the sweater he currently had on. He was wrapped up in a piece of American history and it suddenly felt wrong to have it on, to be wearing something that belonged to a man that might actually want them back, if he knew they existed. 

He quickly dialed Peter and let the kid know that Sharon would be out for the rest of the day and didn’t need him to return. Bucky stood folding the paper under his metal arm and began the walk home. By the time he reached his place, his decision was made. He'd clean them all and set them aside until the next time he saw Sharon, then he'd give them all back. 

Captain Rogers deserved to have his wartime sweethearts' gifts back, it was the least he could do. 


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of New York. Peggy passes away. Tony is... Tony. BBQs and unsung birthdays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon typical violence during the 2012 section and Peggy's funeral is in the 2016 section, in case you want to skip those parts. Otherwise Bucky and Steve are being dorks. As usual.

**2012**

Sam came into the library yelling at everyone that the city was being attacked by aliens. None of them believed him but Sam was screaming for someone to turn on the TV. Bucky had known him for four years now. Sam was not wearing his ‘I’m pulling your leg face”. It wasn’t until he pulled up the footage on his phone that anyone started to take him seriously. They all ended up crowded around the tv in the staff break room. Bucky watched in horror as giant, flying alien reptiles carrying alien soldiers started poured through a giant black hole in the sky. The only sound in the room was the muted sound of the TV commentary and the harsh breathing and quiet sobbing of the staff. 

“How do we survive aliens?” he murmured. 

“Yeah, man. That’s what I’m saying'' was Sam’s terse reply.

The news report was erratic and filled with mayhem and destruction. As they watched, a group of six people in uniform showed up on shaky cell phone footage, taking out aliens with impunity. Bucky sat leaned forward to get a closer look. Everything was chaotic: debris was falling, people were being shot by aliens with weapons that emitted blue light, The Hulk was tearing up buildings and aliens alike. 

The footage cut to a man in a red, white, and blue uniform pointing up the street, directing uniformed officers. His gut clenched in shock and awe. It was Captain Rogers. Every story he'd ever heard was playing out on the TV screen and he couldn't quite believe it. 

The shaky footage followed him as he ran down the street, up onto the hood of a parked car, and jumped into the air, neatly going through one of the open windows on the second floor of a bank. For a moment nothing could be seen, then beams of blue weapons fire exploded from the side of the building. Whoever was holding the camera nearly dropped it but recovered quickly. 

Screams erupted from inside the building and then the Captain came exploding out of the window, tucked up behind his shield to protect himself from the blast. He landed face down on the car he’d leapt off of on his way in, creasing it nearly in half, crushing the windows and side mirrors in the process. For a moment he didn’t move but then he slowly eased off of the car. 

“Fuck”, Bucky breathed out, “that’s gotta hurt.” 

Sam nodded in his peripheral vision. On screen, the bruised and battered national icon got his feet under him on the pavement. People were rushing from the bank but the camera stayed on Captain Rogers. He seemed dazed for a moment and Bucky had the oddest desire to fold the man up in his arms and give him a hug. He looked exhausted and worn with some worry that had absolutely nothing to do with the fight he was currently in. The person holding the camera zoomed in on his face and Bucky could see it: the will and determination to do what was right settled on the man’s face, an implacable, stubborn desire for justice. It was almost downright mulish. 

“Here we go”, Bucky muttered. Sure enough: the man picked up and took off after another round of the alien threat. The camera person wasn’t able to keep up and the news cut away to another camera man catching Iron Man and a red haired woman in a black cat-suit battling alien monsters.

“Turn it off”, someone finally said but nobody moved. The chaos on the screen increased and Bucky heard someone in the office whimper. He looked over and one of the pages was crying and hiding her face in her hands. He bumped Sam who was closer to the tv stand. His friend and coworker shook himself out of the near trance-like state most of them had fallen into while watching the broadcast. He reached over and switched off the set. 

Even Bucky, who’d been invested in the footage in a way he hadn’t even realized until it was cut off was relieved. He moved to the page whose sobbing was starting to subside and wrapped his flesh arm around her shoulders, occasionally dropping his hand to her upper back to run soothing circles. 

Sam crouched down beside him. 

“So that’s the guy whose sweaters you’ve been wearing,'' he said, not really asking a question.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“He’s not what I expected,” Sam replied with brow furrowed, while a small grin stole across his face. “He’s… a knucklehead.”

Bucky looked up sharply at that. Sam shrugged in response as if to say  _ am I wrong though?  _ He couldn’t argue that, huffed out a laugh. 

“I don’t know the guy,” he returned, “I just have his sweaters.”

“I know you though,” Sam rolled his eyes, “You get anywhere near that bullheaded heroism and you’ll be insisting that he snuggle into the sweater with you while you’re wearing it before he can even blush over the implications.”

“Fuck off”, Bucky drawled without heat. Sam just chuckled at him.

Their manager who had been on the phone almost the entire time with someone from Administration finally addressed the room.

“They’re letting everyone go home. We just need to clear the building and get locked up, though I am pretty sure everyone that was in the building is actually here” she said, looking around the room and noticing a few regulars. “Sam, Bucky? Can you two do a walkthrough? Tiffany and I will see everyone out and get the entrance locked. Pages? Check the restrooms and take care of the computer lab monitors. We’ll all meet in the workroom in fifteen.”

Sam and Bucky stood and made their way around both floors of the building from opposite sides checking all the aisles and nooks and crannies as they went. They did find a college kid with headphones in, half napping in the seating area near the adult fiction section but he roused easily and went to the exit without comment or complaint. 

Twenty minutes later they were both in Sam’s car; he’d insisted on giving Bucky a ride home. They rode in companionable silence until his friend pulled to a stop outside his building. 

“Stay safe,” Sam said, raising his eyebrows in challenge. “Don’t do something stupid like trying to go into Manhattan to give Captain America a stack of sweaters.”

“Geez, Sam!” Bucky said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m staying in my house unless someone really fucking official tells me I need to leave for my own safety. Ok, Mother Hen?”

“Yeah, ok,” Sam allowed. “But… you will never hear the end of it if you change your mind.”

Bucky grumped a non-verbal reply, grabbed his bag and started towards the front door of his building. He turned back at the curb, Sam was still there watching him (he was the kind of guy that made sure you actually got in your door, it was one of the many reasons why he was a good guy).

“You stay out of trouble too, Sam. That goes both ways!” Bucky lifted his fingers to point at his eyes and then back at Sam. Sam laughed.

“Get in the house, Bucky! You’re wasting my gas.”

Bucky went. When he got inside he hung up his coat and bag and turned on the TV to the news. The team of heroes were calling themselves The Avengers. They had defeated the alien threat but the city looked like 9/11 all over again. It made Bucky's heart ache. 

He looked to the entryway, to the box that was wrapped in kraft paper and sealed with twine and a tag that he'd carefully written: Return to Captain Steven Grant Rogers. Sweaters knit for him by Agent Margaret Carter. 

Sam was right though. He  _ would  _ do something stupid like walk into Manhattan for Steve Rogers but not because he was a superhero. He would do it because Steve Rogers needed a hug. The sweaters would just be icing. 

* * *

**2013**

**BUCKAROO BANZAI: So you remember how I saved your life?**

**CRAZY RICH ASSHOLE: Do you remember that you’ve already called in that favor?**

**BUCKAROO BANZAI: Is the saving of a life ever truly repaid?**

**CRAZY RICH ASSHOLE: Not when you’re involved, apparently. What do you want?**

**BUCKAROO BANZAI: I want to meet Steve Rogers.**

**CRAZY RICH ASSHOLE:...**

**CRAZY RICH ASSHOLE:...**

**CRAZY RICH ASSHOLE:...**

**CRAZY RICH ASSHOLE: I will not aid and abet your gay fantasies Bucky Barnes.**

**CRAZY RICH ASSHOLE: It might be fun to watch Cap squirm while you tried.**

**CRAZY RICH ASSHOLE: But yeah, no.**

**BUCKAROO BANZAI: You suck.**

**CRAZY RICH ASSHOLE: You wish.**

**BUCKAROO BANZAI: Eeeewwwwwwwwww!**

**CRAZY RICH ASSHOLE: Oh, Cap’s good enough for your superhero fantasy but I’m not? That hurts. That really hurts.**

**BUCKAROO BANZAI: WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER. UGH.**

Tony was a jerk. If you couldn't use your tenuous connection to Iron Man to get to Captain America then what good was a life debt for anyway? And, no, he  _ doesn't  _ count the arm as payback (he totally does but Tony doesn’t need to know that). 

* * *

**2016**

The email came while he was at work.

**_To:_ ** [ **_jbarnes@brooklynlibrary.org_ ** ](mailto:jbarnes@brooklynlibrary.org)

**_From:_ ** [ **_agent13@gmail.com_ ** ](mailto:agent13@gmail.com)

**_Subject: Aunt Peggy_ **

**_Dear Bucky,_ **

**_I thought you should know that Aunt Peggy passed away yesterday. You always asked after her and genuinely seemed to care about the answers. I told her about you of course but someone so new… She didn't hold on to it._ **

**_I desperately wish I'd taken you to see her just once. She was so strong, so capable, so full of life, so no-nonsense! I think she would have appreciated your sass and gentleness. I wish you could be at the funeral with me but it's in London and I'm sure that's too much to ask of you, especially on such short notice._ **

**_Peter is looking after the shop with his friend M. J., so if you need to stop by, Peggy's Place is open._ **

**_Please know that I appreciate your friendship, not just your patronage._ **

**_With love, your friend,_ **

**_Sharon Carter_ **

Later, Bucky was grateful that he was at his own workstation and not out at the circulation desk when he read it. He couldn't help the tears that slid down his face. He wanted to go see Sharon and stand with her while she went through this. She needed people that loved her to be there for her. 

Sam came back to their shared cubicle from the circ desk while Bucky was still drying his face. 

Bucky gestured toward the screen and Sam leaned over to read. 

"Oh…" Sam said quietly, "That's rough, man. Are you going to the funeral?" 

"I can't afford it, Sam, or I'd drop everything to be there for her. She doesn't have any family, now that-" Bucky’s voice broke. 

Sam squeezed his shoulder gently. 

"Maybe you should see if they’ll let you take the rest of the day. Or a few days. I’m sure Hope would be cool with it once you let her know why.”

Bucky wasn’t so sure. Sharon and Peggy weren’t related to him by blood but he felt like they were. Even though he’d never got to be in the same room with Margaret Carter, he’d come to know her through Sharon’s stories and her handiwork. Hope Van Dyne might be a super cool and capable boss but he wasn’t sure she’d be able to let him out of work for a non-family death. Sam must have seen his skepticism.

“Ask, man! Just ask. The worst that can happen is that she’ll say no and I’ll have to keep passing you Kleenex under the circ desk” his friend insisted. 

“Yeah, ok, Sam.” Bucky pushed away from his desk, scrubbing both hands down his face. He walked back to Hope’s office and knocked lightly on the door.

“Hey Boss,” he said quietly. 

Hope looked up from her computer and peered over the edge of her glasses. 

“Hey Bucky. What’s wrong? You look like you’ve been crying.” she replied. Fresh tears slid down his face at her words. “Come in and close the door behind you. Tell me all about it.”

Bucky did as he was told.

A half hour later Bucky was making his way to the subway station on his way home. He didn’t know why he was so upset. In some ways it made no sense but his heart ached nevertheless, mostly for Sharon. He knew not to bother her with phone calls and lame offers of assistance when he couldn’t make it to London but he wanted a way to show his support. It was a quiet ride home in the middle of the day and he spent the time thinking over all of the times Sharon had regaled him with stories about Aunt Peggy’s time in service and how much she’d accomplished as a woman in a time when women would have had to struggle ten times as hard as they did now to be recognized and respected. He had admired the courage and conviction she seemed to bring to everything she did. He also loved how close they were. His own parents had died in a fatal car crash and now Becca was his only immediate relative so he understood how precious Peggy must have been to Sharon. 

When he made it home, he checked his savings; a ticket to London was out of the question but he could send flowers. He placed his order and wrote out a note to be included for Sharon with a florist that took online orders in London. When that was done, he made tea and curled up on the sofa to listen to the swing records Sharon had given him a few years back. He had a feeling that they might have belonged to Aunt Peggy back in the day. To be truthful, the music was a little too lively for his mood but he wanted anything that would remind him of the two women that had changed his life in small, simple but amazing ways. 

He fell asleep to the tinny sound of 40s swing music playing through the Crosley’s built-in speakers, feeling heart sore and tired. 

He woke hours later to his phone buzzing across the coffee table. It stopped ringing before he could pick up in his groggy, disoriented state but started again as sat up and unrolled himself from the middle of his blanket burrito. It once again stopped ringing before he could pick it up, then immediately began ringing again. 

“Ok, Ok!” he groused to whoever was calling. He reached over and picked it up to discover Becca was calling him. He accepted the call putting the phone to his ear slowly, still trying to wake up fully.

“I said, are you there?” came the insistent voice of his sister through the phone. 

“Yeah, yeah, Becs. I just woke up, trying to get it together, you know?” 

“I talked to Sam,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “He told me about your friend’s aunt. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay, Becs. I just feel bad that I can’t be there for her. Sharon has been so sweet to me over the years and I’ve heard so much about her aunt... “ he paused, suddenly overcome with emotion. “I just don’t want her to be alone. It’s just too much money for a last minute flight.” 

“I’ll buy you a ticket, Bucky. We can afford it. Go be with your friend.” Becca and her husband did really well in their respective careers, so he knew this was true but he didn’t want to impose. When he tried to argue she shot him down fimly. 

“Go pack, Bucky!” she said, when she’d had enough of his teary protests. “I’ll email you the details once I've purchased the ticket. I'll book you a hotel too. Go pack."

He ended up on a flight the next morning with a carry-on rolling behind him. His sister had insisted on taking him to the airport and had pressed a prepaid credit card into his hand before he made his way to security. 

“Don’t argue, Bucky” she had admonished, “and try to bring me back some change!”

When he got to London he took a cab to the hotel which was in Chelsea and was much swankier than he’d thought she’d put him up for. When he looked the place up online he whistled under his breath. He almost wished the circumstances were better for him being here. He was glad she’d been so generous though; he’d never admit it but he was sort of snobby about hotels which was probably half the reason why he didn’t travel with the funds he did have. 

As soon as he got himself settled into the room his sister had booked for him and took a long, hot shower he texted Sharon.

**Bucky Barnes: Hey, Sharon. My family got me to London. Where will the funeral be held?**

**Sharon Carter: OMG, Bucky! I’m so glad you’re here. What hotel are you at?**

**Bucky Barnes: The Egerton House Hotel, it’s in Knightsbridge?**

**Sharon Carter: I’ll come to you. In about half an hour?**

**Bucky Barnes: See you then.**

Sharon was waiting for him in the hotel’s bar. She was dressed all in black and her eyes were the kind of red that happened from crying too much for too long. She hugged him long and hard and then gestured for him to settle into the seat opposite her at the little bistro table she’d commandeered for them. 

“I already ordered martinis. They are known for them here”, she said once she’d settled too. 

“How are you?” he asked, squeezing her hand gently with his own metal one. She shrugged in response.

“Not good.” She carefully slurped the top off of the martini in front of her, having no choice since it was filled to the brim. She grimaced a little but seemed fortified for a moment. 

“I’ve got to give the eulogy. I don’t know what to say. There’s too much… and not enough time in all the world for who she was”, Sharon continued a moment later. 

“Yeah... “ Bucky concurred. He’d only heard about it second hand but Peggy had lived a very full and productive life. He wasn’t sure he’d do much better in Sharon’s place. 

“Right now, I just want to have a drink with a friend and talk about how great she was” Sharon said, “until I don’t.”

“Until they kick us out” Bucky promised.

They settled down and talked about Peggy about the shop, about the library and Sam (Bucky decided he was going to introduce them when they got back to New York). Sharon even told him a little bit more about “The Captain”.

“I know it’s Steve Rogers, you know?” Bucky said to her during this part of the conversation. 

“Now? Yeah. I’m pretty sure it was obvious after that day in the shop. I couldn’t say anything then. But yeah. It was Steve Rogers. Captain America himself”, she shrugged an apology. “I got to meet him at the hospital. He came to see her as often as he could. I could tell when she was having a bad day if I came in after him. His eyes were so sad. He’s nice though. Stoic but not so stoic you want to throat punch him.”

Bucky laughed. 

“He seems the stubborn type from what I can tell in interviews.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “I tried to get Tony to introduce us but he wouldn’t do it.”

“Really? Huh.” Sharon said cryptically. “He might be there tomorrow. You should meet him. I mean, you wear his sweaters and all.”

"Not anymore" he replied. "I kind of felt a little weird about it you know? Ever since that day… "

He trailed off, not wanting to let on that his interest was about more than the sweaters. 

"Youve got a crush, Bucky Barnes." Sharon stated, trying to catch his eye. 

Bucky waved her off, grateful that she actually let him off the hook, and they continued on nibbling appetizers, drinking amazing martinis, and talking about whatever came to mind until the bar staff kicked them out.

The next morning was overcast and gloomy when he opened the drapes in his room. He was feeling a little worse for wear; between the time change and the slight hangover he was not in the best state. He took some ibuprofen, drank some water, ate breakfast, showered, shaved and put on the suit he’d worn to his own parents funeral. It was a better quality off the rack that Becca had helped him buy. He decided not to worry about his hair, parting and combing it neatly but not putting it up into a bun like he usually would. He also put a glove over his left hand; the metal invited questions he wasn’t prepared to answer at the funeral.

The cab ride was quick; as luck would have it, his hotel wasn’t far from the church at all. The church itself was getting full when he arrived and people were still streaming in. Bucky was awed by the number of people that were in attendance but he felt like he should have known: Peggy had marked so many lives, even the ones like his where they’d never officially met. He could only imagine how much more of an impact she had on people she’d worked with and befriended. 

He spotted Sharon near the front and she hugged him again when he walked up. 

“I’m so glad you’re here” she whispered. 

“Me too” he whispered back. “Where do you want me to sit? Should I go to the back?”

“No, you’re with me” and she pointed to the front pew. He moved to sit. That’s when he noticed that he was only a few seats down from Steven Rogers. He sat quickly but otherwise ignored the butterflies in his stomach. He heard the heavy main doors close and waited tensely as a hush descended over the congregation. 

The church pastor opened the service and spoke for some time and then invited Sharon up to give her eulogy. Bucky was amazed she doubted herself. The eulogy was beautiful and seemed to perfectly encapsulate all that Peggy had been to her. Bucky cried and someone, he didn’t know who, gently pushed a handkerchief into his hand. He was still clutching it when the church had emptied out and only himself, Sharon, Captain Rogers, and a woman with flame red hair and a subtle air of menace were left.

“Sharon” Captain Rogers, said as she approached him with Bucky at her side. “This is Natasha Romanoff; she's a friend.”

“Ms. Romanoff. Did you know my aunt?” Sharon asked as she shook her hand. 

“Only by reputation” the woman responded. “I’m here for Steve. I didn’t want him to be alone.”

Bucky nodded at this exchange without thinking; he could see that Captain Rogers was hard hit by this loss, more so because he’d missed out on a life with her. The motion seemed to draw his attention. 

“This is my good friend, James Barnes” Sharon said, bringing him into to the conversation. 

“Steve Rogers”, the man said, he seemed to hesitate before holding out his hand. He was looking at Bucky like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “You knew Peggy?”

Bucky shook his head but took his hand and shook it. 

“No. I visited the shop, you know? Got to know Sharon. Heard all the great stories about Peggy and all she’d done for both our country and her own. Heard a little bit about you too.” he said, hoping he didn’t sound like a fanboying nerd.

“Hopefully, the human stuff. I'm glad you could be here for Sharon.” Captain Rogers said, looking down at their still linked hands. 

Bucky pulled away quickly, embarrassed by the gesture. He was at a loss but kept talking anyway.

“I have your sweaters” he blurted, instantly flushing at the conversational hole he was digging.

Steve looked on in mild confusion. 

“Aunt Peggy knit you a bunch of sweaters when she came back from the war. Finally decided to put them up for sale in the shop. Bucky owns them now” she provided gently. 

“You should have them back” Bucky offered. “She made them for you, would have wanted you to have them.”

“Ah”, Steve nodded. “Well, I’m pretty sure that Peggy would never have put them in the shop if she didn’t want anyone but me to have them. Besides, it seems like they’re in pretty good hands now.”

Before Bucky could answer an alert went off on both Captain Rogers and Ms Romanoff’s phones. 

“Duty calls” he said. He turned to Sharon as Ms Romanoff made her way down the church’s main aisle toward the door. “Call me if you need anything. Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

A moment later they were gone. 

"You're right, he is nice." Bucky said, still staring towards the door. 

“Come on,” Sharon said. “We’ve got sorrows to drown… let’s go get drunk again.”

Bucky was on board for that. 

* * *

**2018**

It didn't happen right away but Bucky started to wear the sweaters again. Sam had laughed at him the first time he came to work in one of them.

“I thought ‘The Sweaters’” Sam made air quotes, “were exclusively to be worn by Captain ‘freaking' America?”

“I believe the word was a lot dirtier than freaking” Bucky had shot back. “Much, much dirtier.” 

“But now it’s okay?” Sam said, “Since when?”

“Since Captain America gave me permission” Bucky said as he rolled his eyes, pulling out his own air quotes for Sam. “He said, and I quote, ‘They seem to be in good hands’, so yeah, ‘The Sweaters’ are back.”

“You’ve still got a crush on him don’t you?” Sam said slyly. 

“I have patrons” Bucky sniffed back before warmly greeting a gray haired regular that liked to get science fiction recs from him. 

“You’re not off the hook, Barnes” Sam stage whispered to him from Circ 2 once she had gone. Bucky ignored him. What could Sam do besides tease him, anyway?

Two months later there was an invite in his inbox:

**_To:_ ** [ **_jbarnes@brooklynlibrary.org_ ** ](mailto:jbarnes@brooklynlibrary.org)

**_From:_ ** [ **_swilson@brooklynlibrary.org_ ** ](mailto:swilson@brooklynlibrary.org)

**_CC:_ ** [ **_agent13@gmail.com_ ** ](mailto:agent13@gmail.com)

**_Subject: BBQ TIME!!!_ **

**_Bucky, my man! It is officially time to celebrate Sharon and me moving in together and we are going to Q. You know what that means? Since it happens to coincide with the birth of our great nation, we will be up on the roof. Be prepared to stay for the fireworks. Be prepared for fun. Be prepared to attend or be vilified on circ for all eternity. DO NOT WEAR THE SWEATERS™._ **

**_Sam Wilson_ **

**_Adult Services Librarian I_ **

**_P.S. Bring that pasta salad you always bring to the potlucks or entry will be DENIED._ **

  
  


Bucky made the seafood pasta salad he usually took to potlucks, carefully writing out the ingredients on a 3x5 card so he didn’t kill anyone with allergies. He put on a pair of pink twill shorts, and a short sleeved pride tee. It was too hot for even one of the lightweight cotton sweaters of Peggy’s but he thought she’d like his outfit anyway. Sharon definitely would. 

He showed up around 2pm, just in time to get grill duty. Unlike most of the other guests he didn’t need a tour of the apartment because he’d helped Sam and Sharon move in. He took it all in stride, flipping burgers and hot dogs, chicken wings, and ribs - whatever Sam threw at him, occasionally taking a break to grab some nosh from the overladen sides table or to grab another beer.

Eventually, Sam and Sharon were done giving the newcomers tours and most people had filled up at least twice with food from the grill and the sides and were slowly making their way through the desserts, everything except for a garish red, white, and blue cake with a childish rainbow numeral candle that read: 100!. No one was touching that one so Bucky steered clear, assuming that it was some inside joke or whoever brought the cake couldn't bake and everyone knew to avoid it like the plague.

Bucky had a friendly conversation with Peter and his girlfriend MJ. Chatted with a scary looking, but drily funny guy wearing an eye patch and leather in July that introduced himself as Nick Fury. His companion was a tall, brunette whose humor was so dry it bordered on deadpan. Her name was Maria Hill and she looked just as scary as Nick Fury but without the eye patch. They both looked like they might be ex-military to him but he didn't ask, and they didn't tell. He had no idea the entire time they were talking about how they had been invited to this party; were they friends of Sharon's or Sam's?

Later when the sun started to go down, they played Apples to Oranges and Uno, and another game that Bucky sat out to talk with America Chavez about how her MLIS program was going.

When America saw the time, she made her goodbyes and headed out to meet up with friends for a fireworks show elsewhere. And Bucky wandered over to Sam only to come in at the end of a cryptic conversation. 

"... not showing up", Sharon said. 

"Yeah, not his style at all", Sam replied. 

"Who?" Bucky butted in. Sam ignored him, leaning around to ask Fury a question instead. 

"Is your boy coming or what?" Sam demanded. Fury shrugged. 

"Last time I checked."

"Well, he's late" Sam declared, "if he waits much longer to show up we'll be hosting a Christmas party."

"Who is this?" Bucky asked again but Sharon threw her arm around his shoulder. 

"Help me clean up, Bionic Man?" she said with a laugh. 

Bucky gave a long suffering sigh. 

"Do I have a choice?" It was a rhetorical question, he knew the answer. 

"Not if you want peace and quiet-" Sharon started and everyone finished "AT THE CIRC DESK!" 

"Oh my God, Wilson, you've turned her against me" Bucky grabbed his chest as if wounded. "I should never have introduced you! You've got them all trained. Ugh!"

Everyone laughed and Sharon hauled Bucky over to the tables to help wrap food up and take them down to their fridge. 

By nine thirty the food was all put away and almost all the guests had filtered out to turn in early, meet up with other friends or family, or to take in a different fireworks show. 

A small group was still left and there were some newcomers. Bucky recognized Tony right away. He also recognized the willowy blonde standing behind him with her arms around his waist and her chin propped on his shoulder. 

"Well, if it isn't the one armed wonder", Tony said. "What're you doing here? Does someone else owe you their life?" 

"No Tony, I'm friends with Sharon and Sam. You know friends? Oh, wait…" Bucky trailed off with a raised eyebrow. 

"I have friends. They are called The Avengers and they save scrawny little hipsters like you from yourselves." Tony shrugged and knocked back the rest of his scotch. "Now I'm tempted not to give you the present I brought you."

"Tony" Pepper warned. 

"What? I give the guy Starbucks for life and a metal arm and all I get in return is lip. Not even clever lip. Petulant, bratty lip." He stopped when Pepper squeezed his arm with no small amount of force. Tony cleared his throat. 

"OK, fine. But you have to do that thing you promised", he said over his shoulder to Pepper, who only rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Let me introduce you to some peeps. This is Agent Romanoff. This is Agent Coulson. Do not let Pep tell you his first name is Phil. His first name is Agent. End of discussion. And this is a Capsicle but you might know him better as the guy you've been begging me to introduce to you for the last four years."

Pepper smacked Tony Stark in the back of his head and Agent Romanoff followed suit. He quickly disappeared from firing range. 

"It's nice to see you again, Bucky" the red haired woman said holding out a hand. Bucky shook it. "You can call me Natasha. Phil and I won't hold you up."

She dragged the man in question away before he could offer a hand to Bucky as well, leaving him alone with Captain Rogers. He seemed embarrassed. Bucky could commiserate. 

"I'm sorry about my friends" Steve began with a sigh, "sometimes they're a little extra? That's the phrase right?" 

Bucky laughed, suddenly delighted. 

"Are you trying to use modern slang? Because", Bucky leaned in "all the no." 

"Very funny" Steve huffed. "Just for that I should take back my sweaters." 

Bucky was suddenly very serious. 

"I can do that if you need me to", he offered quietly. 

"I was just kidding, Buck. I meant what I said, they're in good hands."

Steve stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking a little awkward. 

"Maybe you could show them to me sometime though? I can see what I missed out on being gone so long."

Bucky nodded copying Steve's body language unconsciously by putting his hands in his pockets too. 

"You want a beer?" 

Steve nodded, so Bucky led the way to the cooler, opening two beers for the both of them before sitting down on a bench away from the main group. Steve joined him and they sipped in silence for a while. 

"Four years, huh?" Steve asked out of the blue. 

"Huh?" Bucky said, confused. 

"Tony said you've been asking to meet me for four years. Is that true?" Steve explained, looking up at him through golden lashes. 

Bucky flushed, he could feel the heat of it sweep over his features, he hoped that the encroaching darkness covered it up. 

"Yes? But it was because I was trying to give you the sweaters back. I swear. It wasn't like a thing or anything." Bucky hoped the supersoldier serum didn't give Steve the ability to suss out a lie. 

"Even after I said it was OK?" Steve answered with a playful little smirk. 

"Yeah, well, you know, I thought maybe the grief was talking. Just wanted to do the right thing," Bucky mumbled, awkward with how nerdy he sounded even to himself. 

"Hmm", was Steve's only reply. 

They continued in silence, drinking their beers, moving with each other from time to time unaware yet of how their bodies were syncing up. 

"You know that day, I thought you might be related", Steve said suddenly just as the radio announced the fireworks would start in a few minutes. 

"What do you mean?" Bucky said, puzzled by this revelation. 

"I thought you were related to Peggy. Same dark hair, same strong jaw, sharp, kind eyes. Only the color was different." Steve paused, clearing his throat nervously, "You looked so much like her, that same kind of beautiful. The kind you can't turn away from."

Bucky was floored, he didn't know what to say to that. Steve thought  _ he  _ was beautiful?  _ Buddy, pal… Take a look in the mirror! _

"I spent some time with her before she passed. I visited whenever I could. She told me she had a great life and she wanted me to have one too. That I should move on." He looked at Bucky then, a look of hopeful expectation on his face. 

Bucky smiled, he didn't think it was possible for a smile to be any bigger or brighter than his was at that moment. 

Steve fell silent again smiling into his own beer, a beverage that Bucky suddenly realized wouldn't even get him buzzed, that he probably only took because Bucky offered.  _ Oh _ , this guy was  _ sweet.  _

The fireworks started and the radio played the national anthem and other patriotic tunes. Buck barely saw it. His eyes kept straying to Steve's profile and the way the lights reflected off his skin, the way his Adam's apple bobbed whenever he took a sip of beer, the way he kept glancing over when he thought Bucky wasn't looking. 

After the show, everyone made their goodbyes except Steve and Bucky. They stayed behind to help Sharon and Sam with the cleanup. When they finished there were hugs and kisses for both of them from their mutual friends. 

They walked out into the late summer evening together lingering on the sidewalk though neither of them spoke. 

"Do you need a ride?" Steve offered. "My bike is down the street."

Bucky nodded, following along when Steve gestured in the direction of his bike. He clambered on behind after strapping on the spare helmet he was handed. Steve guided his hands to the proper position before taking off and Bucky just curled into him, soaking up the warmth and strength under his hands. 

It was over too soon. When Steve pulled up to the building Bucky didn't want to let go but he forced himself to climb off and give him back his spare helmet. He tried brushing his now short hair back into place after being squashed but it was no use. He gave up when Steve turned to him from putting the helmets away. 

They stood under the lamplight for a moment not saying anything. 

"Well, I should go up" Bucky finally said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. 

"Yeah," Steve answered, obviously not meaning it at all. "Look, I hope I didn't scare you with what I said about meeting you earlier. Sometimes I say exactly what I mean and it's bad for everyone involved."

"I'm not scared."

Bucky stepped towards him and reached in his pockets searching for his phone, laughing when Steve blushed at the contact. 

"Unlock it for me. I need your number."

Steve complied, watching through lowered lashes as Bucky typed in his number then called himself so he'd have Steve's. 

"You should call me and ask me for coffee. I'm sure if you do, that I'll say yes." Bucky smiled, so pleased he could burst. He stepped away and jogged up the steps to his building. 

His phone rang as he reached the door. 

"Hello?" he said, answering as he dug out his keys. 

"Hey, Buck, it's Steve. Steve Rogers. You gave me your number after the BBQ? I was wondering if you'd like to go out for coffee. Say on Sunday afternoon?" 

Bucky let himself into his building but turned before letting the door close. He stopped to look at Steve standing on the curb next to his bike, nearly breathless with anticipation, too excited to ask him out on date to wait the customary “I’m not desperate” waiting period. like a normal human being.  _ This guy was so adorkable.  _ Bucky laughed into his phone before he could give Steve an answer. 

"Yes, Steve. It's a date."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I did justice to the BofNY. I tried to write out that scene in Avengers where Steve saves the people in the bank from a third party perspective. The scene in the break-room was what happened at the Borders bookstore I worked at on 9/11 except it was a coworker named Betsy who ran in yelling about the towers. We didn't believer her but we all ended up in the break-room. Customers could have robbed us blind that day, there literally wasn't a single person on the sales floor that worked for the store. It's not something I'll ever forget.
> 
> For Peggy's funeral I tried to focus on Sharon and Bucky's relationship rather than how it effected Steve, I kind of feel like that's been done and much better than I ever could both as cannon and fic. 
> 
> The seafood pasta salad is something I always take to potluck and almost never bring leftovers home. And I have been threatened with never being invited again (jokingly) if I didn't bring it. 
> 
> Anything else you want to know? I've got answers! Kudos and comments are deeply appreciated!


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I'm posting a day early because this fic is all written and I'm on to a new one (soulmate AU, in case anyone is interested in checking that one out). So here is the wrap up. 
> 
> This week: It's a wonderful life!

**2020**

After three weeks of not seeing Steve because of some top secret thing that he couldn’t talk about, Bucky had had enough. So he was surprised and delighted when Steve sent him a text (on his day off!) saying that Bucky could meet him at the Tower later. That was entirely welcome news for him; if he had to wait one more day he would have started trying to take out Avengers and SHIELD agents alike to find out where he was.

Even better was the current weather situation. Bucky just couldn't believe the early fall weather. It was late September and it was still warm and sunny as if summer didn't want to let go and make way for autumn. That, as far as he was concerned, just meant that a picnic in the park was in order. It was the perfect quiet, romantic moment they needed after their government enforced separation. 

Bucky made his potluck pasta salad, thick sandwiches loaded with fillings, sweet potato chips, sliced fruit, and brownies with chopped chocolate and maple roasted pecans and loaded them into a basket with a bottle of champagne, a reusable liter bottle of water and all the dishes, cutlery, and glassware he'd need. When he was done the basket was laden with good eats.

He wore a pair of dark rinse jeans, tanker boots, and the dove gray v-neck sweater that Peggy had made, making sure to pull on his leather moto jacket and his helmet on the way out of the door (Steve would kill him if he rode the bike without it). 

His bike was sleek, black and chrome with no insignia manufacturing branding on it. It was sexy, fast, and had every piece of tech that Tony Stark thought he should have to keep him safe and in contact with Steve. The whole thing had been custom built by Tony at Steve’s request and had been the single most extravagant gift that anyone had ever given to him. He’d be lying if he didn’t say he loved it with every fiber of his being. What was even cooler to him: between the arm and the bike he looked like a freaking superhero himself sometimes. (He didn’t actually run around with Steve on missions though, he preferred a book and a cuppa to guns and car chases. He loved his low-key, quiet life, _thank you, very much!)_

When he was all geared up, he headed down to the curb to strap the picnic basket down securely and make his way to Manhattan to meet Steve. He didn’t ride often, especially not without Steve with him but the possibility that they’d be on one of the bikes and not in the car for their rendezvous made him want to take his favorite girl out for a spin. He put on his helmet and eased out onto the road, setting a brisk pace to the bridge; traffic wasn’t as horrible as usual and he made record time. 

The bike had credentials that let him into the Avengers only parking garage, from there he could take the elevator straight up to where he needed to go; he’d been put on the very special and very short list of non-Avengers that actually had access to their floors. It was a crazy honor, one he didn’t abuse. Though, he did bring Sam and Sharon to movie night once, and no one seemed to mind (probably because Natasha had done a full work up on both of them before they even left the BBQ two summers ago). 

JARVIS greeted him as he stepped into the elevator with the picnic basket. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes” the AI said in his melodious British accent. Bucky loved talking to JARVIS whenever he got a chance. He always learned something new and the AI actually had a personality that came through in all his interactions. The science fiction loving kid in him was delighted that the technology existed and he got to interact with it. True, independent AI was a fantasy come true for a nerd like Bucky. He greeted him by his nickname.

“Hey J! How’re things in your world?” he said. Looking up at the elevator’s ceiling even though everyone had explained a million times that JARVIS wasn’t actually in the ceiling. 

“Things are quiet, sir. Mr. Stark has given me a vacation, which just means there are less projects to oversee than usual” the AI responded drily.

“You should make him give you a raise” Bucky said, honestly hoping to incite mischief.

“Mr. Stark does not pay me, Mr. Barnes but he should.”

“Damn straight” Bucky agreed with a nod.

“Captain Rogers is waiting for you, sir.”

“Thanks, J!” Bucky said with a smile. His gut clenched at the thought of seeing Steve, it had been just over three weeks (nearly a month!) since he’d seen him. According to Steve he hadn’t been away on mission but he was doing some sort of work that required his undivided attention. Bucky took it at face value. He did realize who he was dating after all. 

The elevator doors opened with a barely audible swish onto Steve’s floor. The man himself stood a short distance away from the elevator doors, wearing only a pair of dark wash jeans that clung to his slim hips and thighs in the best way possible and a white tank top that was partially tucked into the front. His feet were bare and his hair was still damp from the shower; Bucky could smell the scent of his soap wafting gently towards him. 

“Hi, Steve” Bucky said on an exhale that was almost a whisper. _Damn, this man was beautiful._

“Hey, Buck.” Steve replied softly.

They stood like that just drinking each other in, Bucky still standing in the elevator and Steve with his hands shoved into his pockets until JARVIS interrupted their moment.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your reunion Captain Rogers and Mr. Barnes but Mr. Stark is calling for the elevator” the AI stated.

Bucky hustled out of the elevator, setting the basket to the side as he reached Steve and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s neck. Steve’s hands settled across his back, squeezing firmly.

“I missed your face” he said into Steve’s neck with a sigh. Steve chuckled and pulled him even closer. 

“I missed your face too, Bucky.”

Bucky just squeezed him back for long moments, reveling in how his muscled back moved under his hands and the smell of his skin, warm and clean. Then he pulled back and cradled Steve’s face in his hands to plant a long, lingering kiss that spoke entirely on Bucky’s feelings about their separation. He would swear Steve swayed when they finally pulled apart enough to look at each other, Bucky leaned over to gesture at the basket at his feet. 

“I brought our picnic” he said with a smile. Steve’s stomach grumbled in response and Bucky laughed. “I made extras of everything.”

He tried to push Steve away to get him going but the super soldier was having none of it. Bucky stilled to see what he was on about, cocking his head to one side and raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to go to the park, Buck” Steve grumbled. Bucky frowned.

“Steven Grant Rogers, I am not wasting this gorgeous day inside” he protested as Steve started pressing light kisses to face and neck.

“I don’t want to go all the way to the park”, Steve continued between kisses, “just want food and you. Not necessarily in that order.”

Bucky wanted to melt into Steve’s arms and let this go where he knew it was heading but also knew that if he did that every piece of food in the basket at his feet would die and become walking, shuffling zombies, seeking humans to devour before they made it out of the bedroom. Besides, Bucky had to work the next day; he said as much to Steve.

“There is an open air terrace garden on 46 that is only open to the Avengers” Steve said brightening.

Bucky picked up the basket and gave him a look. 

“I will be downstairs, in the garage, making sure this is secure and waiting for all six foot two of you to come and drive me to the park.” Bucky stated in his brook no argument voice. “Don’t forget to bring a blanket.”

With that he sauntered over to the elevator, swishing a little as he went, laughing when Steve whistled long and low. The elevator whisked open and he stepped inside. Steve looked like sex on legs, his eyes dark and hungry and not for a picnic. Bucky grinned mischievously, winking at Steve as the doors closed behind him.

When Bucky got back to the garage he walked over to Steve’s off-duty bike and strapped the picnic basket down again, then leaned against it to play an off brand word game that didn’t require internet access. Steve arrived a few minutes later in a straight zip moto and boots with his jeans, a gray t shirt replacing the white tank he’d been wearing when Bucky arrived. Bucky sucked in his lower lip unconsciously in appreciation.

He handed Bucky the helmet he’d left on his own bike with a smirk. 

“You know I love it when you do that” Steve said, leaning over Bucky and drawing his lower lip out of his mouth, sucking gently, then lightly scraping his teeth over it’s plump softness. Bucky groaned and tried to pull him into a kiss but Steve laughed. “I thought you wanted a picnic.”

Bucky grumbled as he strapped on his helmet. Steve settled onto the bike and he climbed on behind him, gently wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. Steve pulled out of the garage and into traffic, winding his way East out of the city towards Long Island. Steve drove for a long time, occasionally using the built-in headsets in their helmets to check with Bucky. He answered in the affirmative every time, gently hugging Steve without disrupting his driving. 

He had no idea where they were going but the weather was gorgeous; the trees were turning colors and both sides of the highway looked like fire and light swaying in the breeze. Bucky was so content, he literally had love in his hands and the changing season in his eyes; the drive was one long moment of pure beauty and joy. 

After two hours on the road with only one stop for a restroom break, Steve pulled into a parking lot paved in concrete that turned to cobblestones as they went up the drive. He pulled aside into a parking spot and waited for Bucky to dismount before following him, stowing the helmets and taking the picnic basket from where it was carefully strapped to the bike. He grabbed Bucky’s hand and they walked back to the cobble lined drive up to the entrance of a pristine, white Greek Revival House with black shutters, a manicured hedge, and a lush, verdant lawn. 

“What are we doing, Steve?” Bucky inquired as he trailed behind his boyfriend into the building. It was a hotel and Bucky was puzzled. “What happened to our picnic?”

“Trust me,” Steve said. He let go of Bucky’s hand and checked them in. A hotel employee guided them to the room. Steve gave him a generous tip. Once the door was closed, Steve strode to the sliding doors which opened out onto a private patio. There was a small, wood pedestal table with modern white wicker style chairs to one side but Steve ignored them as he opened the door and stepped out onto the grass. He unfurled a quilt that Sharon had made them to commemorate their first anniversary together and began unpacking the lunch from Bucky’s insulated basket.

Bucky stood on the threshold of the hotel room watching Steve get everything settled and he wanted to strangle him and kiss the breath out of him at the same time. 

“All the way to Bridgehampton? For a picnic?” he breathed out, knowing full well that Steve would hear him anyway. 

“Yeah. Come eat.” Steve toed off his boots and socks and sat cross legged on the blanket, patting a space next to him while simultaneously tearing into a sandwich. 

Bucky settled next to him and began dishing himself up salad, half of a turkey sandwich, and some of the fruit that he’d packed up. Steve cruised through three of the whole sandwiches before Bucky had eaten half of what he’d served himself. They ate in relative silence, soaking in the warmth of what would likely be one of the last fine days of autumn. Bucky finished before Steve, setting his plate aside and scooting down to rest his head in Steve’s lap. He curled up a bit, reveling in the warmth of the day and proximity to Steve. Before long he felt strong fingers brushing through his thick, unruly hair and he sighed.

“You’re so beautiful” Steve said, the awe apparent in his voice. “Thanks for making me come outside.”

“This wasn’t _exactly_ what I had in mind” Bucky murmured back, “ but I’m glad you surprised me.”

Steve smiled and it lit up his whole face. He was always so pleased when Bucky approved of his romantic overtures, as if he was afraid he’d get them wrong. Considering that Bucky was his first serious relationship, that probably wasn’t a completely irrational fear. 

“Are you gonna stop staring and kiss me, or what?” Bucky grumbled pleasantly. Steve laughed and cupping the back of his neck gently lifted him up so that he had better access for a kiss. It was a long, lazy kiss that slowly built in intensity. When Bucky groaned into the kiss Steve broke away, his eyes dark. 

“I want you” he said, voice husky with desire. “I want to take you apart and make you beg me for more.”

Bucky felt a frisson of heat cascade through his body. He unfolded from Steve’s embrace and sauntered towards the room, pulling the sweater over his head as he went. Steve remained on the quilt watching him as he stripped off his tee shirt and pants. When only his boxer briefs were left, Steve finally stood, abandoning the picnic accoutrements to stalk toward him. He pushed Bucky back toward the bed until his knees hit the edge and he fell back laughing.

Steve crawled over him and waggled his eyebrows. Bucky cracked up at how cheesy his boyfriend was and Steve joined him. When their laughter subsided Steve stilled above him. Bucky squirmed a bit under the scrutiny. 

“I thought you were going to ravish me,” he said as a blush spread across his face. There was something about the way Steve was looking at him, something that made him scared and excited at the same time.

“I am” Steve answered but he didn’t elaborate, just kept Bucky pinned under his heavy, bright gaze. Bucky slid his arms up around Steve’s neck then and pulled him down for a kiss. Steve obliged but pulled back after only a moment. He ran his hands through Bucky’s hair and caressed his face, grinning with delight when Bucky kissed the tip of his thumb as he brushed it across his mouth. Steve finally cupped his face gently in his hands.

“I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. I love you with my whole soul” he said before dipping his head for another kiss. 

Bucky felt every single cell in his body react to this proclamation like the sun coming over the horizon after a long night. He kissed Steve back with every ounce of feeling in him, it bubbled up out of him and into their shared kiss, gratified when Steve groaned, long and low into his mouth. 

“I love you too, you dork!” Bucky laughed, radiant with joy, as Steve tried to tickle his sides in retaliation for calling him a dork while he was trying to be sexy and loving . He squirmed away but there was no getting away from a supersoldier who already had a grip on you and your heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all folks! I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought in the comments! I love to know what you guys think of my forays into Stuckyland.

**Author's Note:**

> There is more to this fic, I promise and it is 100% complete. I will post the rest over the next two Sundays.
> 
> The book Bucky had recommended to him by his patron is Cowl by Neal Asher. It would make a great action movie, it's very faced paced and has you on the edge of your seat from page one.
> 
> All of the sweaters I imagine are probably way more modern than anything Peggy would have actually knit, if she ever knit anything, with more of a 60s/70s vibe, except the dove gray one. That I imagine is a pretty straight forward men's postwar style.
> 
> The shop is the place from the first movie where the secret lab was in Brooklyn, except it's called Peggy's Place instead. 
> 
> And finally... 
> 
> A word about Sharon: I know some people hate her. I think a lot of that has to do with the way she's been handled in the MCU. I think Emily Van Camp and Chris Evans have ZERO chemistry together as a couple plus the whole kissing the niece of the love of your life thing. NOT COOL. But... I think she's much maligned as a character in her own right, uncoupled from the squicky energy of the forced romance with our beloved Cap and I wanted to give her a chance to shine. I hope I did her justice. 
> 
> If you have questions about anything - Let me know! Kudos and comments are AMAZEBALLS! 
> 
> HUGE thanks to xPixelx for reading over my train wreck fics and giving me feedback and grammar checks. Any errors or gaping plot holes or other generally gross things regarding the writing, spelling or grammar, are all me. 
> 
> I'm on Twitter if you want to follow me @jowithtwoiis.


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